Spicy Cioppino Recipe with Fennel and Herbs

Two weeks ago, Mr. Luz and I had the pleasure of cozying up for the weekend in beautiful Berkeley Springs, West Virginia with two of our favorite people.

We laughed alot, ate alot, and didn't change out of our pajamas at all on Saturday. It was preeettty fantastic, and just what we needed.

Whenever we go to WV, I like to cook something super-tasty as a "Thank You" to Rick and Kate, our hosts, for inviting us to their perfect get-a-way.

This time I decided to make cioppino, a tomato-based seafood stew, because it's tangy, rich, and so filling. My favorite part of the cioppino is the fennel--it adds a freshness to every bite and nicely complements the the tomato and seafood flavors without overpowering the dish.

I especially like this recipe because blending the base adds flavor while letting the seafood really steal the show-presentation-wise. And you can make the base ahead of time and then throw in the seafood right before you serve it for maximum freshness. It seems like a daunting list of ingredients and steps, but everything cooks quickly and provides great flavor. To speed up the process, you can skip the blending step and just let your cioppino be chunky, and you throw the fish into the pot to cook with the rest of the seafood, but it will fall apart once you start stirring it up with those mussel shells.

Requisite Cute Foxy Shot.....

Cioppino--Tomato and Fennel Seafood Stew Recipe

3 Tbs. olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
6 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
1/4 cup tomato paste
2 cans of diced tomatoes in juice
1 bunch fresh basil
2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 large fresh parsley sprigs
1 tsp. dried oregano
1 bay leaf
1 tsp. cayenne pepper
4 cups shrimp stock
1 cup clam stock

1 lb. mussels, scrubbed and debearded
1 lb. large uncooked shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 1/2 lb. firm fish, cut into 2 inch chunks
1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 large fennel bulb, thin sliced
2 cups white wine
3 Tbs. flour
2 Tbs. butter
Salt and Pepper to taste

To make the base:

Heat the oil in a large pot. Add the onion and garlic and saute until cooked. Stir in tomato paste and saute, stirring frequently, until slightly browned. Add the tomatoes, herbs, and shrimp and clam stock. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Simmer for 1 hour, uncovered.

Allow the base to slightly cool. Remove bay leaf and any remaining thyme and parsley ribs. Add the base to a blender and blend to a thick, slightly chunky soup.

To make the stew:

Bring the blended base to a simmer. Add the wine, chopped parsley, and fennel and simmer for 10 minutes. Taste and season with salt and pepper if necessary.

Rinse and pat dry the fish cubes. Dredge the fish in flour with salt and pepper. Melt the butter in a large, shallow pan over medium heat. Add the fish to the pan and cook, stirring gently, until browned.

Add mussels and shrimp to the stew base, cover, and cook until the mussels are open and the shrimp are done. 5-7 minutes. To serve, put the fish in the bottom of a bowl and cover with the stew.

Mr. Luz doesn't hold back with his handmade Sourdough breadbowl...

Louisiana in Two Parts: What's Happiness All About?

Two conclusions from recent studies strike me as...well...interesting.

Conclusion #1: Louisiana ranks as the worst state in the U.S. for overall quality of life.
Conclusion #2: Louisiana ranks as the "Happiest State" in the U.S.

Methodology aside, both conclusions have merit. Louisiana is a corrupt state, sometimes unabashedly and unapologetically so. That leads to insufficient infrastructure--poor schools, a lack of funds for important government programs as money gets shoveled to cronies and cousins rather than to the public where it belongs, and businesses left to fend for themselves in a state with few exports. People talk trash about New Orleans, but the corruption is everywhere. Just do a quick google search of the scandals surrounding the Louisiana Public Service Commission, and you'll see that in Baton Rouge "who you know" means so much more than "what you know."

But Louisiana is also a state where people have fought to maintain a highly satisfying way of life that's counter to the fast-paced, million-dollar-paycheck culture we've come to accept in the rest of the U.S. In Louisiana, food, family, and community are generally prioritized over money and prestige (unless you're in govt., of course). People look out for and genuinely enjoy one another, and the hours are marked by Abita beers consumed, stories told, and the number of friends who stop by. It's a place where you're well-regarded so long as you're just being yourself--the local heroes are the folks who are the kookiest and also the most comfortable with their eccentricities. (See Granny Cart Lady to the left. She attended Tulane classes...and got kicked out of Tulane classes...on and off and would show up at many a Mardi Gras parade. R.I.P. GCL)

It's impossible to be alone in New Orleans...even and especially after a Category 5 hurricane comes knocking down your door. Everyone is your friend, and every day is a special occasion to be celebrated.

I can come up with a handful of hypothesis that explain these seemingly incongruous conclusions, but each of them would oversimplify the deep memory and collective soul of a place as diverse and storied as New Orleans. Instead, I'll just think about the following: Residents of New Orleans and the inhabitants of Louisiana in general largely came to the state with their own unique culture and history, and settled there as a place of last resort. Over time they have struggled together to thrive, rather than just survive, in an inhospitable place prone to swampy conditions, hurricanes, and the rampant abuses of the oldest Good Ole' Boy network in the U.S. And together, they have come to conclude--among many, many other things--that every day is a gift to be shared with loved ones and enjoyed, rather than wasted on 15-hour work days and superficial pursuits. They have created their own happiness out dire circumstances. In sum, we could all learn something about happiness from the bunch of drunken, garrulous 'yats that I'm proud to call my own.

Christmas Memories

The first thing that my mom ever sat me down and taught me was how to decorate a Christmas tree.

She went through, step by step, and told me how to add the lights without showing too much of the wire, and how to make sure that the tree was evenly lit. She spread out all of the ornaments on the coffee table, and we chose where each one would go. Some were large, and needed alot of space to hang. Some looked best hung in front or behind a light bulb. And of course, the smallest and lightest ones go on top. Together we stepped back from the tree to see if there were any blank spots in need of an ornament, a candle, or some ribbon. Decorating the tree was a process, a project, and when we were done I was so proud of our creation, and felt so lucky that she trusted me with our beautiful family tree.

I miss you Mama BaCon. Thanks for all of the wonderful memories, and for teaching me about the important things in life.

Wild Mushroom Risotto Recipe and Eff-You, 2009

Like most food bloggers, I've been a total slacker this holiday season. I've continued cooking and baking like a mad woman, but I've fallen off on blogging, mainly because of what I'll call The Macro Effect.

The Macro Effect is the term I came up with to describe the hyper-styled, "perfection in a food photo" approach that magazines, cookbooks, and now food blogs take to recipe sharing (and named after the setting on my camera that conveniently allows me to zoom in on the pristine image of the food and shut out all of the dusty crap and empty wine bottles in my dining room). If I'm being honest, my blogging declines when I'm busy thanks to the Macro Effect, because I don't have enough light/time/creativity to take the food photos that I want to for my posts. Sure, I dream of book deals, but I blog to express myself and connect with people who share my passions, so I shouldn't let the Macro Effect keep me from posting. (Also, I wouldn't trade places with Julie Powell for a second. Nora Ephron and Amy Adams?! Are you kidding me?!)

Folks who write about these things hypothesize that the Macro Effect has caused food blogs to become more commercial to their detriment. The argument is that we get enough glossy perfection every time we turn on the TV. Food blogs should allow people to connect on a real and personal level about real life and real food, rather than simply tossing around recipes and cutesy, sterilized anecdotes while painting a reality where people eat on adorable china with a fresh-picked bunch of yellow daisies "casually tossed" next to their tomato bisque every day. Food bloggers keep a majority of their stresses--illness, heartbreak, or just run-of-the-mill disappointment--out of their blogs. The internal reasoning goes something like this: Journalists don't talk about their messy divorce in an article on seasonal preparations of spaghetti squash, so I should keep my personal life private as well. But again, the argument goes, food bloggers shouldn't hide behind their commercial aims because part of what they "sell" is the experience of being human, and all the emotions and difficulties that go along with that.

I can understand their criticism, though I'm not entirely ready to give up my cutesy anecdotes and my serving plates sourced from Salvation Armys far and wide. However, as penance for me letting the Macro Effect keep me from posting, and posting honestly, I will: post an ugly photo (see above) for my Wild Mushroom Risotto with Manchego Cheese recipe (see below) and tell you, readers, that it has been sort of a shit year, emotionally, here at BaCon. In the grand scheme of things, I am very blessed. I have a close, happy family that is made up of some of my favorite people on the planet, a great job, and an understanding and deeply passionate partner who loves me for all of my imperfections rather than in spite of them. I have also lost two very close friends in the past 4 months--they haven't passed away, there has just been a decision to "part ways," and it's been very difficult for me. I know it seems silly, but here are 2 people who know me better than anyone, and in the past 120 days they've both decided after years of friendship to give me up in one way or another. And although I'm very blessed, all of that doesn't keep me from feeling sad, hurt, and sometimes angry about how everything has worked out.

I'm hoping reconciliation is possible with one of them. But I didn't want to just write about the reconciliation, citing peace and the magic of forgiveness and all that, after the fact and without the mess. Because that would just be soo Macro Effect, wouldn't it? So, here's the mess. I'm a lucky, lucky girl who sometimes feels very lost, and who maybe has done something to drive her two best friends away in completely separate instances. Or maybe they weren't really my best friends. Or maybe they were, and relationships just change. And maybe I can be close with one of them again, some day.

And for bearing with me through all of this, here's a yummy, creamy and rich (vegetarian!) Mushroom Risotto recipe for you. Thanks for listening.

Wild Mushroom Risotto with Manchego and Parsley:


8 cups mushroom or vegetable broth
1 oz. dried wild mushrooms, reconstituted with 1 cup hot water & chopped
1 1/2 Tbs. olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
2 large garlic cloves, minced
1 1/2 lb. portabella mushrooms, gills removed and chopped small (or 1lb. baby bellas, chopped)
2 bay leaves
2 Tbs. fresh thyme, chopped
1/4 cup fresh Italian parsley, chopped
1 tsp. Cinnamon
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 cups Arborio rice
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 cup Manchego cheese, chopped

Bring broth to a simmer. In a deep skillet or heavy bottomed pot, heat oil over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and saute until translucent. Add the portabellas and cinnamon, salt and pepper, and saute until browned. Add rice and reconstituted mushrooms and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Don't let the rice brown. Pour in wine and cook until almost completely absorbed.

Add about 3 cups of warmed broth into rice and cook, stirring often and vigorously, until it's all absorbed. Add 2 cups and repeat. Add fresh herbs. Repeat broth/stirring steps, adding 1 cup of broth at a time until rice is tender and the sauce is very creamy. (This takes awhile. Grab a glass of wine and call me to talk about what's stressing YOU out. I owe you.)

Stir in cheese and continue cooking until melted. Serve promptly.

Pure Hedonism: Bistrot Du Coin's Beaujolais Nouveau Release 2009

I pulled on my gold lamé top, wiggled into my black tights, and asked Mr. Luz, "are the heels on these shoes too high for a night of drinking and dancing?" on a typical Wednesday night, just like any other in D.C. Ok, if you insert "red velour tracksuit" for the gold top and tights, and change the quote to "How many Top Chef episodes do we have to watch to catch up before tonight's show?," then that would be the case. In reality, I was preparing to celebrate the most glorious of holidays in D.C....Beaujolais Nouveau Release Day.

On the third Thursday of November, France releases its most recent Beaujolais Nouveau wine vintage, (made from Gamay grapes grown and handpicked in the Beaujolais region of France) creating a festival-like atmosphere around the release and a virtual "race" to be the first to enjoy that year's harvest. It is rumored that by the time all of the Beaujolais Release events around the world have handed out their last bottle and swept their last revelers out the door, over half of the region's annual production (65 million bottles, ya'll) has been imbibed.

Of course, this is just a bit of brilliant marketing on behalf of the wily French. Except for exceptional vintages, Beaujolais Nouveau is not meant to be aged. It's a fruity, floral, light-bodied wine for quaffing within 9 months of bottling, so the French create a stir around the release to promote the early enjoyment of its baby wine. I'm happy to say that I enjoyed this year's Beaujolais Nouveau early and often at this year's Release Party at Bistrot Du Coin in D.C. You're welcome, France.

My hedonistic pursuits on the night of the Beaujolais Release Party did not stop with the black ankle strap 4 inch heels and plasticy metallic apparel. From there it snowballed into a cholesterol-laden feast, with Bistrot Du Coin's velvety chicken livers, luscious veal sweetbreads and cream sauce in a puff pastry, brothy mussels, crispy frites, and a big skillet of dark and rich lamb stew. After dinner and because we could only squeeze our party of 10 into the 7pm seating, we were forced to drink too much champagne and be merry until the actual Release at midnight. (Reservations for BdC's Beaujolais Release Party are slim, and good luck trying to get in as a mere drinker/dancer after the restaurant hits its fire-code capacity.) With the champagne came the dancing as diners cleared the floor, waiters cleared their tables to the far edges of a previously quaint restaurant, and the disco ball and club lights came up. And finally, as the bartenders began handing out plastic cups and free bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau at midnight, with the wine came dancing on the bar and (don't you wish you knew what was in this parenthesis?)

So maybe I'm not going to spill all my secrets, but suffice it to say that no one escaped BdC's Beaujolais Nouveau Release Party without doing something embarrassing, wearing purple wine-stained clothes, and giggling into a plastic cup of Beaujolais Nouveau. And I'm already counting down the days till the next third Thursday in November. France, you are awesome.